


Story of Us

by misspunkrock



Series: SteveBucky Book Club Prompts [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Consensual Underage Sex, First Time, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Romance, Some Fluff, Soul Bond, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 06:53:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1889142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misspunkrock/pseuds/misspunkrock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“And I’d choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I’d find you and I’d choose you.”</em>
</p><p>In a world where people can't see color until they meet their Match, Bucky meets Steve when they're both too young to understand what it means to even have a soulmate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Story of Us

**Author's Note:**

> The quote at the start of the summary is from _The Chaos of Stars._
> 
> Written for the second prompt of the book club Soulmates/Destiny. And I know that canonically speaking Bucky is supposed to have brown eyes but Sebastian has such lovely blue eyes that I just had to write about them

When Bucky was a boy, not much older than six or seven, a couple had visited the orphanage. A tall serious looking man and his wife who had short, curled hair and a gentle smile. They looked happy together.

While the other children would get excited at the prospect of adoption, of finding a home, Bucky was content where he was. The orphanage was home enough for him. On days like this when they received visits, Bucky would usually introduce himself with a quick “Hullo” then be on his way to play outside.

However on this particular day when Bucky met the visiting couple the woman had leaned down to get a proper look at him and gasped to her husband. “My, he has just beautiful blue eyes doesn’t he?” Her husband had been too busy talking to Sister Agnes about paperwork to reply.

Bucky had looked up at her in confusion. “What’s blue mean?”

She smiled at him and then kneeled so she could talk to him better. “First I’d like to introduce myself. I’m Moira and this is my husband, Andy.” She nodded up at the man who was still talking to Sister Agnes. “And you are?”

Bucky offered a small smile and said, “I’m James, but everyone else calls me Bucky.”

“Bucky.” Moira had repeated. “That’s an interesting name.”

Bucky had shrugged and asked again, "What is blue?”

Moira appeared thoughtful for a moment. She replied, “Well, when you find your Match you can see colors. Blue is a color.”

Bucky had still been confused. “Your Match?”

“Yes, the person you’re meant to end up with; your soulmate.”

“And when you meet em’ you can see blue?”

Moira had chuckled. “Yes, when you meet them you can see blue.”

Bucky considered that. “When will I meet her?”

He was going to ask more questions like, _How do I find her?_ and _What’s it like seeing colors?_ He didn’t get his answers because Moira’s husband was tapping her on the shoulder and telling her they had to go. She gave him another smile as she stood up. “It was pleasant meeting you, Bucky. I’m sure you’ll meet your right girl someday.”

With that she was gone, walking down the hallways of the orphanage leaving Bucky to think about what he’d just discovered.

Bucky had never given much thought to soulmates, as a young child who would really? Everything was black and white, a series of gray to him and he never thought to question it. Before today he hadn’t heard the word _color_. Colors weren’t important to a seven year old who was busying with other things. Like trying to climb that giant oak tree down at the park.

Throughout the rest of the day the conversation sat in the back of Bucky’s head. Tainting his thoughts, imagining what it meant to see colors.

That night Bucky had dragged a tiny wooden stool to the bathroom to stand on in order to see himself better in the mirror. He studied his reflection. He paid close attention to his eyes and wondered what _blue_ looked like.

 

**

It hadn’t been too long after that Bucky became more curious about this so called ‘perfect match’. None of the other kids knew more than he did. This led to him asking Sister Constance one afternoon, “Does everyone have a Match?”

She had been writing when he walked in and now she put her pen down to look at Bucky. Sister Constance was one of the nicer nuns who took care of them. Bucky figured if anyone would answer his questions it would be her.

“Well, nobody can say for sure. I like to think so though.”

Bucky shuffled his feet while trying to think of how he wanted to phrase his next question. “But why do people have em’? Is it ‘cause they let you see colors?”

Sister Constance paused to think. “Again I don’t think anyone can say for sure. However from what I know, to find your Match is to...find the person you need and the person who needs you; the person who will make you happiest.” She seemed lost in thought.

“Have you met yours?” Bucky regretted asking when he saw Sister Constance’s expression become mournful.

Her eyes spoke of quiet pain and she suddenly looked far older than she was. It was a subtle sadness. The kind of sadness that made Bucky feel worse than if she had outright started crying.

“I’m afraid the rest of your questions will have to wait James. Lunch is beginning soon and I wouldn’t want you to be late.”

Bucky wanted to say something to make her feel better. He couldn’t think of anything and instead nodded, mumbling, “Thanks.”

He turned to leave when she quietly said, “Some people lose their Match. When they do they lose colors and a part of themselves too.”

Bucky had no idea what to say to that. He all but ran from the room and made it to the kitchen in time for lunch. For the entire meal Bucky did his best to forget how somber Sister Constance had sounded.

 

**

That evening Bucky lay awake in his bed. Unable to fall asleep, he stared up at the dark ceiling.

He thought about how Sister Constance had looked earlier. Maybe if she had never known her Match, she wouldn’t be feeling bad now?

This thought kept Bucky awake. It made him slightly…reluctant to find his own Match. After all, if they could make you feel so sad Bucky wasn’t sure he wanted to meet them.

 

**

When Bucky was nine he still hadn’t spared much more thought about who his Match might be. If it did ever come across his mind he imagined a nice girl who would play outside with him. Someone who would maybe help him climb that big oak tree.

It was during a harsh winter Bucky’s expectations of who his Match might be were proven entirely wrong.

Snow had fallen in thick sheets the night before a new arrival came to the orphanage. Bucky was up in his room, jacket on as well as his blanket pulled around his shoulders because the heating tended to be faulty and today happened to be particularly cold due to the snow.

He had snuck the morning newspaper upstairs to his bed to see if he could find some of the comics they published sometimes. Everyone else was downstairs finishing up breakfast so Bucky was left all alone. Which, that was for the better really; Bucky wasn’t supposed to take the newspaper upstairs with him anymore because ‘he had a tendency to lose it’ and ‘other people want to look at it too, James’. But it was cold downstairs and the Sisters wouldn’t let him drag his blanket down there with him. He had no other choice than to borrow the paper that he mentally promised he would bring back down later.

The rustling of its pages was all he could hear until he heard the creak of the top step on the stairs. Footsteps were coming towards the room. Panicked, Bucky grabbed the newspaper he wasn’t supposed to have and dove under his bed. His covers draped over the edge of it, not only obscuring him from view but also preventing Bucky from seeing anything too. He stared at the grey patterns of his blanket while his heart pounded in his chest.

The door squeaked open and Bucky could hear Sister Anita talking to someone. Beneath him the wooden floor was chilly and he clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering.

“This bed down here on the end will be yours, alright?”

A quiet voice responded, “Okay.”

Bucky was instantly curious to see who it belonged to. He had a strange feeling in his stomach. Perhaps he shouldn’t have eaten so quickly this morning.

“Very good, I’ll leave you to get settled. Lunch starts at noon sharp and tardiness is not accepted, understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” She repeated. Her footsteps faded out the door. Bucky heard the creak of the stair again. After waiting a few more moments to make sure she was gone, he decided he should get up and introduce himself.

For some reason his heart had not stopped pounding.

Taking a breath he crawled out from under his bed, newspaper in hand. As he stood up he realized dust was all over his clothes and was hastily brushing it away when he heard a gasp. He looked up, ready to apologize for scaring the new boy.

And his apology promptly died on his lips. He locked gazes with the small boy in front of him.

The blacks and greys of the room were slipping, changing back and forth to other things Bucky didn’t have names for yet. It was vaguely dream-like and Bucky wondered if that was what this was.

“I’m Steve.” The boy said and slowly offered up his hand, appearing as dazed as Bucky was.

Bucky stared back at him for a second. The boy, Steve, was such a stark contrast to the fading grey of the room around them.

Bucky looked at him and could see _colors_.

“My name’s Bucky.” Bucky didn’t like how his voice sounded funny. He took Steve’s offered hand to shake it.

Their skin touched for the first time. Bucky almost stumbled backwards as everything suddenly became painted in shades other than black and white. It was an onslaught of color assaulting his vision.

They both gasped this time and it wasn’t just because of the colors they could now see. A sharp something that was all at once hot, cold and electric passed through Bucky’s hand; a strange, shooting sensation searing through his veins. Immediately he felt flushed, excited, and unsettled. Their hands were tightly clasped together, Bucky wasn’t sure he could let go right then if he wanted to. Steve didn’t seem like he could either.

“I…” Bucky tried to talk. He couldn’t _think_ with all these new feelings flooding him.

Steve found his voice first. “Wh-what does this mean?”

“I think you’re mine…you’re my Match.” Bucky whispered.

Steve’s eyes widened. “Oh!” He looked down at their hands then back at Bucky again.

Bucky was entranced by Steve. Later he would learn his hair was what was considered _blonde_ and his eyes were _blue_.

“So you’re my…soulmate?” Steve ventured.

“I guess so.” Bucky was still a little in shock.

Steve gave him a timid smile. “It’s real nice to meet you then I ‘spose”

An answering smile was tugging at the corners of Bucky’s mouth. “Yeah.” He squeezed Steve’s hand. “Yeah, it is.”

Then Bucky exclaimed, “Oh!” and he pulled Steve down the hallway to the bathroom. He finally released Steve’s hand in order to step up on the stool and study his reflection. Bucky looked at his eyes and knew what _blue_ meant.

He stepped back down and said, “Your eyes are like mine, they’re blue.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, go on and look.”

Steve stepped up onto the stool and blinked at his reflection. “It’s really weird. I like it though, seein’ colors I mean.”

“Me too.” Bucky agreed with another smile.

After that first morning the two of them became inseparable. Bucky invited Steve to look at the comics in the newspaper with him. Steve happily agreed. The two of them clambered onto Bucky’s bed and under his dark _green_ blanket.

Bucky discovered Steve felt the cold much more so he hadn’t hesitated in slipping off his jacket and wrapping it around Steve’s thin shoulders. They sat pressed side to side.

 

**

Bucky never cared that his Match turned out to be another boy. It just was, he accepted it with ease. Steve was fun, a good friend and that was all Bucky cared about.

Once, Bucky had tried to tell one of the nuns about him and Steve; about how they were each other’s Matches. She had remarked at how close they seemed so quickly.

“Well ‘course we are, Steve’s my Match.” Bucky had told her matter-of-factly.

She had laughed in a ‘children say the funniest things sometimes’ kind of way and told Bucky. “I think you mean he’s your friend, James.”

Bucky was going to argue, tell her Steve made him see _colors_. Then realized she wasn’t exactly wrong. Steve was his friend. He also happened to be his Match too.

Someone started crying from down the hallway and she had left Bucky before he could say anything else. He wondered why she had laughed. Bucky decided not to tell anyone else. If no one was going to believe him anyways, it could be a secret for just him and Steve.

 

**

Since it was so cold and Steve’s bed was next to the window, he often had trouble falling asleep. From the bed right next to him Bucky could see him shivering. That first night he had climbed out of his bed and walked the couple steps to Steve’s. He had tapped Steve on the shoulder until he turned around. Steve faced him, hunched over in a ball trying to stay warm.

“C’mon over to my bed, we can share for tonight. It’s a lot warmer, I promise.” Bucky whispered, not wanting to wake up any of the other boys. Steve had nodded and kept his blanket wrapped around him as Bucky led him back to his own bed.

They settled in, Steve’s blanket an added weight on top of Bucky’s. Both their heads rested on Bucky’s pillow. They were pressed side to side again and Bucky found that he quite liked the feel of Steve next to him. It felt right.

While the shivers running through Steve’s tiny frame passed, a fierce protectiveness was already starting to grow within Bucky’s heart.

 

**

It was really only supposed to be for that one night.

However the next evening when it was time to go to sleep Steve stared warily at his bed before climbing in. Bucky stopped him.

“Share with me again. You’re so small you’d probably freeze to death on your own.”

“Oh yeah? ‘Cause I bet you I wouldn’t.” Steve said back with a challenge in his voice.

Bucky decided to try something else. “Okay, maybe you wouldn’t. But I like bein’ near you, so will you?”

Steve pretended to think about it but Bucky could see his mind was made up. He wasn’t surprised when Steve dragged his covers back over to Bucky’s bed.

“Okay, only because I like bein’ near you too.”

Bucky grinned. It would only be for the winter. He really didn’t want Steve to freeze to death.

 

**

By the summer they were still sharing Bucky’s bed. They didn’t discuss it, they didn’t have to. It felt natural and comfortable so they didn’t stop. It became a normal part of their routine.

During the day they would usually end up outside, playing tag or pretending to be explorers when they went down to the park. Sometimes Bucky would steal Steve an extra cookie to give him outside. Steve would always grin and say, “Thanks Buck.” It never failed to make Bucky feel good, which was why he continued to do it.

Sometimes Steve would pick a fight with one of the older kids. Bucky would, no doubt, have to step in and prevent Steve from getting beaten into the ground. Every time Bucky practically growled afterwards, “Why do you always gotta get into trouble?”

And every time Steve’s answer would be the same. “They were being a bully; they had to be stopped.”

To which Bucky would sigh and grab Steve. He would bring him somewhere it would be just the two of them; where he could make sure Steve wouldn’t get into an argument with someone else that day. Somewhere quiet so they could look through the newspaper if they wanted.

The point was, no matter what they got up to during the day, each night they would curl up together in Bucky’s bed and sleep soundly.

 

**

By the following fall Bucky managed to climb the oak tree in the park. Of course Steve had been with him, helping him by giving him a boost up. Once he was up on the lower branch he leaned over to help Steve up.

It wasn’t easy. A couple times Bucky was afraid he was going to fall. Through determination from Bucky and stubbornness from Steve they succeeded. In the end, they were sitting on the sturdy branch, laughing with their feet dangling below them.

Autumn had changed the leaves to rich hues of _red_ and _orange_. Bucky admired them as they swirled around the two of them in a mild breeze. Ever since he met Steve, colors had been a fantastic discovery. Together they learned the fresh grass of spring was _green,_ Bucky's dark hair was _brown,_ the dandelions that sprouted up from the cracks in the sidewalk were _yellow_.

Finding a new color with its many different tints and tones never failed to awe both Bucky and Steve. While they sat up in the oak tree together Bucky decided there was no one else he would rather discover color with.

 

**

Around the time they were sixteen things began to change. The most noticeable being the physical; Bucky continued to outgrow Steve while Steve’s body seemed determined to fill out at the slowest rate.

And while two kids sharing a bed might go unnoticed in a crowded orphanage; the older they got, the more careful they became about their unusual sleeping habits. Early in the morning before one of the Sisters would come in to wake them all up, Steve would slip out of Bucky’s bed and back to his own.

Another distinct shift to their relationship took place as they matured.

Bucky found himself craving more than Steve’s friendship. There was much more he was beginning to want. He wanted to touch Steve and he wanted Steve to touch him. He wanted to kiss Steve how he’d seen other boys kiss girls. There had been mornings Bucky had woken up hard and aching from a dream. Dreams about skin on skin, tasting, touching, and always about Steve.

At first Bucky didn’t say anything about it. He didn’t want to pressure Steve into anything.

That changed when Bucky noticed how Steve would stare at him sometimes. With a kind of heated intensity and Bucky just _knew_ what he was thinking about. Or like how Steve would blush before climbing into Bucky’s bed.

It was an itch under his skin, wanting Steve, knowing Steve wanted him back.

However it was a step Bucky was unsure of how to take. They were never alone. While they had learned it wasn’t unheard of to have a Match of the same sex, there was a general air of disapproval surrounding it. It simply didn’t seem right to some people. This hadn’t made sense to Bucky; it wasn’t like he could help who his Match turned out to be. Not that it mattered, he didn’t regret meeting Steve.

But it was for this reason they still hadn’t told anyone at the orphanage they were each other’s Matches. Everyone assumed they were just close friends, which wasn’t untrue.

It did make things difficult when all Bucky wanted to do was kiss Steve; to at least see what it would be like. He imagined it would be soft, wet, maybe a little messy.

As it turned out, Bucky wasn’t all that wrong.

It was a Friday morning and everyone else was downstairs still eating breakfast. Bucky had snuck the newspaper upstairs again. He was waiting for Steve to finish his toast and come up so they could look through it together. They read more of the actual paper as they got older but still, they always began with the comics. It had become a kind of tradition with them, starting from that first morning they met. Bucky enjoyed being able to spend time alone with Steve more than anything else during mornings like this.

Bucky was sitting on his bed when he heard the creak of the top stair. Soon enough Steve was closing the door behind him and coming to sit next to Bucky.

“Here, I brought you somethin’. I saw how much you left on your plate at the table.” He gave Bucky a half piece of toast wrapped in a napkin.

Bucky smiled. “Aw, you’re too good to me Stevie.”

“Shut up.” Steve said with a smile.

Bucky was still smiling when he took a bite into the half burnt bread. They settled in, side by side as always to read.

There was a definite tension that came from them being alone. Bucky could feel it in the way he was hyperaware of all the places they were touching, the outside of their thighs, their shoulders, their hands when they would both reach to turn the pages. He could feel every breath Steve took. He wondered if Steve could hear how much his heart was racing.

It was too quiet, Bucky was sure Steve could tell how much he was affecting him. Bucky speculated on how long it would be until someone else came upstairs.

Then he felt Steve go still beside him. He had stopped reading and now he was staring at Bucky. Bucky could feel it like a physical touch on his skin. He turned his head to meet Steve’s gaze.

“Somethin’ wrong?” Bucky asked. The air in the room felt heavy, making his voice come out funny and half-whispered.

Steve was looking at him with intent. “No I,” he hesitated, turning his head away for a moment. Bucky admired the pale curve of his neck. Steve faced him again, determination radiating off of him. “I just wanna see something.”

Bucky was going to ask what when Steve sat up straighter and pushed his lips up against Bucky’s. He was off by a little so he ended up kissing the corner of Bucky’s mouth too.

Bucky’s eyes were open in shock while Steve’s were squeezed shut, a blush darkening both their faces. For a second it was simply that, mouths pressed together unmoving. Then Steve was quickly pulling back, an apology forming when Bucky put a hand on the back of his neck. He pushed his fingers up into Steve’s hair and pulled him in again.

“Shh, let me…” Bucky didn’t finish his thought, just put his mouth over Steve’s and started moving his lips to coax Steve’s open.

Steve let out a sound that could have been a gasp or a sigh. He followed Bucky’s movements the best he could. Neither of them knew what they were doing. It was sloppy, their teeth clacked together sometimes, and it was very wet as Bucky predicted.

It was also one the greatest sensations Bucky had felt, better than what he had imagined. The newspaper crinkled beneath them as they moved to get closer to each other.

Steve ended up straddled over Bucky’s lap; Bucky’s hands on Steve’s hips, steadying him, pulling him as close as he could. Steve was rocking his hips back in forth, tiny, unconscious movements that were getting Bucky hard.

Bucky’s hands had moved up, going beneath Steve’s shirt and exploring the warm skin of his back. Bucky moaned when Steve’s hands went into his hair and twisted around the dark strands.

Bucky broke away from their kiss to catch his breath. As much as he wanted to continue tasting Steve’s tongue, his lungs demanded air.

Steve was panting into his ear, onto his neck. “What are we doing Bucky?”

He noticed Steve’s lips were _red_ and loved how the color made them seem more tempting.

“Whatever we want. Do you wanna stop?” Bucky murmured in response.

“No.” He punctuated his answer with a deliberate thrust down.

“ _Fuck_.” Bucky groaned, it was too much and not nearly enough. He could feel how hard Steve was through his clothes. Bucky pushed up against Steve’ grinding and pulled him back down for another messy kiss.

Their movements were frantic and without rhythm; a desperate need to get off. Bucky was going to pull away again, suggest they take off some of their clothes so they could feel each other better. But those thoughts were gone the moment they entered his head, chased away by the feel of Steve moaning into his mouth.

It seemed unbearable to stop long enough for them to take just their shirts off. The friction of Steve’s relentless motions was enough to have Bucky clinging to him and trying not to come.

“It’s too much, you gotta…I’m going to…” Bucky couldn’t finish a sentence. Something hot and heavy was caught in his chest, some nameless, too big emotion that stole every thought from his head and replaced them Steve. Steve’s bright _blue_ eyes clouded over with need, his _blonde_ hair stuck to his forehead from sweat, his sharp gasps of pleasure.

Steve seemed to understand him regardless. “I know, me too.” He whispered.

The adrenaline of having Steve like this, when anyone could walk in and see them, had Bucky pushing up against Steve with even more fervor. Panic skated around the edges of his arousal, they had to be done and cleaned up before someone came upstairs.

“Wha-what if someone comes by Steve? We shouldn’t be....oh _fuck.”_ Bucky repeated when Steve tugged on his hair a bit too tightly, the pain a sharp point of sensation that had Bucky pulling Steve down _harder_. His hold was probably leaving bruises on Steve’s hips. Something primal and possessive inside him was happy about that.

“I can’t stop, m’ really close Buck.” He leaned over to kiss Bucky. It was more of a wet slide of mouths mixed with harsh breaths than a kiss.

Suddenly Steve was motionless. He shoved his face into Bucky’s neck, muffling his moan as he came.

“Christ, did you just?”

Steve nodded weakly against his neck. Bucky became impossibly harder. Steve had come. From just them rutting against each other; the knowledge of that had Bucky ready to do the same.

Then Steve, dazed and moving slowly scooted backwards enough for him to take one of his hands and place it on Bucky; moving to palm him through his pants. That was all it took. At the touch of his hand Bucky was arching into him.

“Steve!” Bucky bit his lip in an attempt to hold back his cry. He came, eyes squeezed shut and grasping Steve’s shoulders.

Bucky fell back on the bed, Steve still in his lap and following. His head rested on top of Bucky’s chest, right below his chin. The rest of the room was cold. Bucky felt hot where Steve was laying on him.

Bucky couldn’t speak. His throat was tight with what he wanted to say and was unable to.

_You’re perfect. I can’t believe you’re mine. I’ll never get enough of you now that I know what this is like._

Instead of embarrassing himself with any of that he pressed a kiss onto the top of Steve’s head and asked, “You okay?”

Steve got up on his elbows so he could look at Bucky; a giant smile across his face when he said, “Better than okay.” He shifted and the mess in both their pants became uncomfortably obvious. “We should probably get cleaned up though.”

Bucky laughed. “Probably huh?”

With reluctance Bucky let Steve go get a washcloth from the bathroom down the hall. While Steve was gone Bucky stared up at the ceiling, the smile on his face refusing to leave.

He wasn’t ready to admit it to himself yet, a very muted and tiny thought at the back of his head that Bucky was hardly aware of. It was possible that maybe one of the other things Bucky had wanted to say was _I love you._

 

_**_

They explored the new side of their relationship secretly. Stealing chaste kisses before going to sleep or in the halls when no one was around; settling for lingering looks and knowing smiles. Some nights they took their pleasure in the other, trying not to make a sound; which, if Bucky was being honest, was harder than he thought it would be.

It wasn’t perfect or ideal. It was enough though.

Bucky savored every intimate moment they had; waiting until the day he and Steve could find a place that was their own.

Plus there were other ways to pass the time. The cookies Bucky used to steal for Steve became paper and pencils for him to draw with. Steve had a raw talent for art. Some of his sketches were pretty amazing, at least Bucky thought so. Then again he tended to be biased.

 

**

When they were old enough, they left the cluttered orphanage. Sister Constance saw them out, hugging Bucky close and telling him, “Make sure you take care of him.”

She pulled away with a soft smile on her face. Her look almost…knowing. Bucky was going to ask her if she knew about them, about him and Steve. If anyone could recognize a Matched pair around there it would probably be her.

Steve came down the stairs at that moment almost tripping in his haste; his meager belongings in hand. Bucky watched Steve make his way over to them and said back softly, “Don’t worry, I will.”

 

**

The apartment Bucky had found them was small. It was the most they could afford.

Bucky had gotten a job nearby. Some kind of mechanic deal that had him fixing up cars and coming home covered in oil and grease.

Steve had more trouble. Work was scarce enough considering the Depression and with his sickly constitution, well, he didn’t exactly make the ideal manual worker. That did nothing to stop him from trying.

Bucky had to admire his determination. Every day it was the same unwavering resolution. “Today’s the day, it’s gonna happen.”

Bucky would chuckle and say, “Well someone’ll have to hire you; you’re too stubborn to take no for an answer.”

And in the end Steve actually pulled it off. He got a job working in a restaurant a couple blocks away. It was more or less clearing tables and washing dishes at the end of the night.

It was farther away than Bucky would have liked. But it was indoors and not too strenuous so he was satisfied with it. If that hadn’t been enough to convince him, the look on Steve’s face when he came home and excitedly told Bucky the news would have been.

Even with Steve’s extra added income they barely made enough to get by. They were by no means living a glamorous life. Sometimes Bucky wished he could give Steve more. Wished he could get Steve the nice drawing paper he wanted and send him to an art class or two.

Steve seemed happy though.

“I don’t need those things Bucky. Don’t worry about stuff you don’t need to be worryin’ about.” Steve would tell him.

At night they continued to share a bed. After spending the last several years of their life sharing, the idea of not doing so felt wrong. Bucky certainly wasn’t complaining.

Every night when he drifted off with Steve in his arms, that warmth in his chest glowed brighter. Every night Bucky was reminded and secure in the fact that he had found the person meant for him. The person who let him see colors.

Bucky liked to think even if there was no such thing as soulmates and Matches he would have chosen Steve anyway. That, no matter what the circumstances, they would have found each other because Steve was just the person Bucky was supposed to be with.

 

**

Bucky wondered how it was possible Steve could be so adamant about picking fights with strangers. Oh Bucky was sure there was a reason for it, maybe the guy had been harassing some poor dame and Steve had felt obligated to step in.

Steve seemed determined to get into it with guys that were always twice the size of him too. Though any average guy seemed to be twice the size of Steve so maybe that was a moot point. What pissed Bucky off the most was Steve’s disregard for his own wellbeing.

And it wasn’t like Bucky could always be there every time Steve decided someone needed to be taught a lesson. It was frustrating. Some nights when it got too bad Steve came home practically limping and bloody. The _red_ everywhere and staining everything it touched.

Those were nights Bucky had to physically restrain himself from shaking Steve in his already broken state and yelling at him; or from going to find the people who thought they could bruise Steve up and get away with it.

_Why can’t you leave them alone, just once I’m begging you! Do you have any idea what it does to me to see you like this? Some people are assholes and you can’t change that; it sucks but not everyone is as goodhearted as you are. I wish they were but they aren’t. Please, for me Steve, I need you to take care of yourself._

Bucky would have to bite his tongue from shouting these words at Steve, to make him _understand_. Most of the time he was able to succeed and keep silent; bandage Steve up and clean his wounds.

There were some incidents when Bucky wouldn’t be able to stop himself from lecturing Steve through anger clenched teeth.

“Damn it, what the hell were you thinking?” He would say, snipping the bandages in harsh, fast movements.

When this happened Steve, stubborn as ever, would try and argue with him.

“What was I supposed to do? He was bein’ a jerk and someone had to stand up to him.”

“That someone doesn’t always gotta be you.”

“I couldn’t stand there and do nothing, Buck.”

Bucky would sigh and press his forehead against Steve’s. “Yeah, I know.”

 

**

It was summer the first time they had actual sex. Bucky thought he was going insane because there was no way it could feel that good.

While they had been living in the orphanage they hadn’t been able to do more than use their hands or rub up against each other.

Here it felt like they were completely isolated from the world. It was just the two of them touching each other’s completely bare skin without worrying about being caught. Seeing Steve naked and spread out beneath him on their sheets was a sight Bucky could have come untouched from.

When Bucky pressed into Steve it was indescribable, like seeing colors for the first time. Steve had gasped out a half choked out moan. Bucky hadn’t been able to move for the longest time because it was so _tight_. There was no way he would have been able to last long.

Steve’s face and narrow chest had been flushed _pink_ when he had wrapped his legs around Bucky’s waist and urged him to move forward. Bucky had his hands on either side of Steve’s head, taking deep breaths and trying to calm down. Being inside Steve, being connected so intimately, was overwhelming.

“Please Bucky, you gotta…I need you to…” Bucky knew what Steve was trying to say. He got up, pulled out partway then slowly pushed back in again. The effect was instantaneous on both of them. A groan left Bucky’s lips while Steve clenched the sheets in his hands.

Bucky had set a slow, languid pace, loving the feel of Steve underneath him. The heat of summer had made the room feel even hotter; the drag and slide of skin made smoother by sweat. Bucky’s hair had stuck to his forehead, the back of his neck.

Everything about that night was seared in Bucky’s head, a precious memory he never wanted to lose. Steve’s kiss swollen lips, his head thrown back in pleasure, the way his back arched off the bed when Bucky hit that one spot inside him, his hands grasping at Bucky’s shoulders, his voice when he came and cried out, “ _Bucky.”_ All of it, Bucky memorized.

Soon after that Bucky’s own release washed through him in waves. It left his limbs boneless and tingly, like tiny sparks of electricity had shot through him.

He had kissed Steve, smiling too much for it to be proper kiss. Then Steve had started laughing, breathlessly and then Bucky was laughing because Steve was laughing.

“What, was I really so bad?” Bucky had asked, trailing sloppy kisses from the corner of Steve’s mouth and across his jaw.

“No, I” Steve sighed as he stopped laughing, “I guess I’m just happy.”

Bucky continued his lazy kisses and said, “Me too.”

 

**

During the winter Bucky would fuss over Steve more.

He would make sure Steve grabbed his scarf and had it wrapped securely around his neck when he left. At night he would listen for sign of a cough, wary of any rattling in Steve’s lungs. He would watch for any indication of a fever, pressing his hand against Steve’s forehead to see if it felt too hot.

Usually Steve would indulge him. He would accept Bucky’s mother hen tendencies with a sigh and a, “You worry too much, Buck.”

To which Bucky would generally reply with, “Shut up, punk.”

“Jerk.” Steve would say with a smile.

While Bucky knew his behavior was probably way over on the overprotective side, he also knew he had good reason to worry. Steve’s body was not as strong as his obstinate character. He was fragile, too easily broken and susceptible to things Bucky couldn’t protect him from. Things like colds, fever, the flu, and god forbid TB.

When the inevitable happened and Steve did fall ill, Bucky did everything he could to get him better. It always felt like it wasn’t enough. The best he could do was sit with Steve, make sure he drank water and had something to eat. Or if he had a fever Bucky would pat his forehead down with a cool washcloth. If it was bad enough and they couldn’t afford to get Steve some medicine that might help him, Bucky wasn’t above getting it through other means.

During those times Bucky didn’t sleep much. Too afraid he would wake up and the world would be grey again.

He would stay awake, sometimes talking to Steve even though Steve was completely out of it. Most of the time those one sided conversations went along the lines of, “If you don’t get better I’m gonna be real pissed. I can forgive you for a lot, especially since you like to get yourself in trouble so much. But not this, so you gotta get better Steve.”

 

**

A war started in Europe and Bucky didn’t pay it much attention. He knew enough to know he sympathized, that what the Nazis were doing wasn’t right.

Everything changed the day Pearl Harbor was bombed.

America went to war and Steve, the idiot, kept trying to enlist. Bucky knew better than to try and stop him. The recruitment offices did that.

Steve was so damn passionate about it too; so earnest in his beliefs that it was the right thing to do. It was hard for Bucky to see him disappointed every time he was denied.

Every time Bucky would have to look away to hide his relief. War was too dangerous for Steve.

 

**

One afternoon Bucky received a letter from the Selective Service Headquarters.

Steve was late coming home; leaving Bucky alone while he read it.

It was an order to report for induction. He was due to report for basic training within the next two weeks. After that…well, after that. He knew more likely than not he would be shipped off to someplace in Europe. The army wasn’t training them to stand around with guns; no, he would be fighting.

For the first minute he sat there reading the letter Bucky felt numb. His first thought was _I don’t know how to use a gun_ , followed shortly by _what the hell am I going to tell Steve?_ How do you tell your best friend you got drafted into a war he was determined to join?

You don’t.

 

**

Bucky hid the letter.

He felt guilty about it and wanted to tell Steve. He wanted to tell Steve he was scared. That he wasn’t sure he was going to come back, that he didn’t know how to leave Steve without feeling like he was being ripped in two, that he didn’t want to face this on his own.

These were things Bucky barely allowed himself to think about, let alone say them out loud.

Instead, what he told Steve was really what Steve had been telling him this entire time. That he had signed up because, “They’re bad guys, and we all got a part to do right?” He had plastered a smile on his face and Bucky was sure Steve could tell it was fake. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. It’s you I’m worried about. What are you going to do without me?” He was aiming to tease, to lighten the mood.

But Steve had paled, went quiet and withdrawn. He had looked down and wouldn’t meet Bucky’s eyes. “I don’t know.” He muttered.

Bucky pretended he hadn’t heard him. He didn’t know what he was going to do without Steve either. Knowing he had to leave him soon weighed heavily on him.

He pulled Steve into a hug and lied. “It’ll be okay.”

 

**

Bucky went and completed his training flawlessly. He put all of his effort into it, exhausting himself daily so he was too tired to think. It seemed to impress the right people.

They told him he had talent as a sharpshooter. That he had the makings of a great sniper.

They gave him a uniform that was _green_ and _gold_.

 

**

The night before Bucky left the air felt thick, like it was doing its best to suffocate him. He had no idea how to say goodbye to Steve. None whatsoever.

So he used his mouth for other things, more important things. Like memorizing the taste of Steve’s lips, of his skin. Telling Steve how much he was going miss him in the way he sucked bruises into his neck.

They didn’t do much else beyond that. Bucky refused to let their last night together be filled with desperate sex. The whole time wondering if this would be the last time, every touch becoming that much more important because it could be the last.

It would be more painful than pleasurable.

Despite that, neither of them slept much. They were on their sides, facing each other on their bed. Bucky was tracing random patterns onto Steve’s back while one of Steve’s hands rested on the back of Bucky’s neck. His other hand was stroking through Bucky’s hair.

“Take care of yourself, I’m serious damn it. No more getting into stupid fights or forgetting your scarf at home.” It was easier for Bucky to lecture Steve.

“I think out of the two of us, you’re the one who needs to be more careful.” Steve pointed out.

“I might be headin’ into a warzone, but you’re still the one I’m worried about.”

“You don’t need to be Bucky.”

“Don’t work too late either, I don’t like you walking home by yourself when it gets dark out. And don’t forget to eat, sometimes I think you don’t remember these things ‘cause you get too caught up in your drawings.” Maybe Bucky should have written a list.

“Now you’re just being ridiculous.”

“I’m really not.”

“You really are.” Steve said with a smile. “It’s okay though. I’m gonna miss you too, you know.”

Bucky leaned down and kissed him again. “I know.”

Then they lost themselves in the kiss. Bucky framed Steve’s face with his hands and Steve gripped Bucky’s shoulders like he never wanted to let go. They both held onto each other too tight and pretended they had more time than they did.

Eventually they fell asleep a few hours before Bucky had to go.

Bucky woke up to see Steve sleeping with a frown on his face. He smiled and smoothed Steve’s hair off his forehead. He allowed for a few more seconds of admiring Steve’s sleeping figure and then got up to get ready.

In the bathroom he splashed some cold water on his face to wake up. He avoided the mirror, already knowing how tired he looked; how lifeless his eyes would be.

The sun was beginning to rise, giving Bucky just enough light to navigate the room. With noiseless and quick motions he dressed; made sure he had everything he needed. He tried to draw the process out. Yet it still went faster than he would have liked.

Too soon he was ready to leave. The army uniform felt stiff and sort of heavy on him. He traced the edges of his hat before putting on. He knew he should get Steve up. Steve wouldn’t forgive him if he left without waking him first.

Bucky dropped his bag by the door. For a moment he examined the wood of the door; tracing the patterns in the grain with his eyes to put off going over to the bed. But he couldn’t prolong the inevitable

Bucky walked back into their bedroom. He leaned over Steve and gently nudged him. “Get up, you lazy punk.”

Steve mumbled something. Gradually his eyes blinked open.

Bucky smiled down at him. “Hey, you don’t need to get up, I-”

“Bucky?” Steve’s voice was thick with sleep. He rubbed his eyes. “When do you gotta leave by?”

“I’m heading out now, I just wanted to tell you-”

That was when Steve noticed that Bucky was already in his uniform, hair slicked back with his hat on and everything. He was stumbling to get out of bed, trying to move too fast when he was still barely waking up.

“Wait, I’ll be two minutes not even that, let me find some clothes quick.” He interrupted Bucky. “Or maybe just some shoes and a coat.” He mumbled.

“Shh, Steve it’s fine.” Bucky steadied him as he stood up.

“It’s not fine; I was gonna walk you to the bus station and send you off.” He was searching the room for his coat, getting more frantic the more he woke up.

Bucky stopped him and held him by the shoulders. He made sure Steve was focused on him and said. “Relax; you don’t have to do any of that.”

“Yes I do, I want to. I was going to figure out the right way to say goodbye and right now all I can think to say is ‘don’t be stupid when you get there’ and that’s not-” Bucky put a stop to his rambling by pulling him in and sealing their lips together.

Steve sank into him, kissing Bucky with the desperation of a drowning man. It didn't last long enough.

Bucky had his eyes closed when he softly said, “I love you, Steve.”

He opened them when he heard Steve laugh weakly. “That’s a hell of a lot better than ‘don’t be stupid’.”

Bucky laughed with him, sounding not quite right because despite his best efforts his voice was shaky. He knew he had to be leaving, that he only had a couple more minutes to stay.

In the time he had left he all but crushed Steve against his chest in a hug. Not that Steve seemed opposed judging from the way he locked his arms around Bucky’s waist.

“Let me walk you down there.” Steve whispered into his neck.

“No.”

“Why?”

_Because if you’re there I don’t think I’ll be able to go._

“Because I have to leave.” He said. It was accurate enough.

It was one of the hardest things he had to do, letting go of Steve. He distracted himself from the burning, roiling mess of emotion inside him by turning around and walking to the door; forcing one foot in front of the other.

When he picked up his bag he thought he heard a quiet, “Goodbye Bucky.”

Bucky didn’t turn around. He couldn’t say it back.

The door clicked closed behind him; his heart left on the other side.

 

**

Colors weren’t as bright as they used to be.

They were muted somehow. Bucky wasn’t sure how long it had been since he had last seen Steve. Too long considering how dimmed colors were to him. Back in Brooklyn Steve was probably experiencing the same thing. Bucky would have to ask him ~~if~~ when he saw him again.

 

**

Fighting a war was brutal.

It took its toll on Bucky. One night he could be talking to someone, laughing even and the next day that same soldier would be killed. It was horrifying. It made Bucky even more careful, to be so viciously reminded that your life could be taken within seconds.

Bucky also found he made a damn good solider.

Here he wasn’t just Bucky Barnes; he was Sergeant Barnes, skilled sniper. Good men trusted him with their lives and he had to trust them in return. What he did out there counted for something, it mattered. If nothing else that made Bucky feel better about the ache in his chest.

Bucky wondered if the army would let Steve join up if they knew the two of them were Matches. In some of the places they went Bucky had noticed Matched pairs. Granted, none of them were same sex Matches, at least not from what he could tell. For all he knew a couple of the soldiers in his unit could be Matched and they were just good at hiding it.

From the rare Matches that he had seen, it tended to be either higher ranking generals who had the option to bring their Matches with them; or couples who had signed up together, the dame generally becoming a nurse for the regiment her Match was in.

It made sense.

Once someone had found their Match, they had found their other half. Breaking that whole for a significant amount of time would have severe side effects. Every Matched pair was affected in different ways, not much was known and documented about it since most Matches were together until death. Even then, when someone died either their Match would follow by natural causes or they would be so insane with grief they wished for death.

For Bucky, being away from Steve meant living almost like a ghost, like he was a half a version of himself. Most nights, no matter how tired he was, Bucky wouldn’t be able to fall asleep. His body couldn’t rest properly without the familiar weight of Steve against him. Every morning he woke up tired and missing his Match.

 

**

One night Bucky woke up feeling like his whole body was on fire.

Mud covered and caked his uniform as he writhed on the ground in unholy amounts of pain. The soldiers around him had woken up, thinking they were under some kind of attack only to find Bucky shouting the name Steve _;_ hunched in on himself and shaking for no apparent reason.

They hovered over him uncertain on what to do until the medic got there. Then once he arrived it didn’t seem like he could do much. The pain stopped eventually, leaving as inexplicably it had come.

Thousands of miles away Howard Stark had flipped a switch at a training camp in New Jersey.

 

**

They were outnumbered, outgunned, and outmatched by the surrounding German forces. They were captured and made prisoners of war.

The room they brought Bucky to was dark.

The binds they used to tie him down with were _black._

The lab coats of the researchers were _white._

The needles they used to inject him with were _silver._ The viscous liquid inside them a deep shade of _yellow_.

Bucky was certain he was going to die there.

 

**

He turned out to be wrong.

Steve was an unreal vision, a dream, a hallucination. Bucky wasn’t sure. He knew it couldn’t be real. It was theory that gained even more support when Steve jumped the length of an entire bridge.

“Get out of here!” Steve had yelled at him. Even in Bucky’s dreams he was unflinchingly selfless.

“No! Not without you!” He had screamed back.

Because even if this was a dream or whatever it was, Bucky wasn’t going to wake up from it like this. And because no matter state of mind he was in, it was impossible for Bucky to leave Steve behind. Hallucinated versions included.

 

**

Bucky accepted it as reality when he was brought to the medics at the camp Steve had led him to. They bandaged him and questioned him and he felt too sore and annoyed for it all to be a dream.

Plus there was the colors. They had flared back into life again.

Bucky couldn’t tell them very much, he couldn’t remember much. All he wanted was to find Steve and figure out what the hell had happened to him. He was still the same, still Steve. Now there was just…a lot more of him.

Steve found him first.

He near dragged Bucky to his room, rank had its privileges Bucky supposed. It was a novelty that Steve could be dragging him anywhere.

It continued to be a novelty while Steve pressed him up against a wall and kissed him within an inch of his life. Touching Steve was like waking up, a breath of fresh air, becoming alive again. It didn’t matter he was different, all that mattered that it was _Steve_ and he was here with Bucky. His blood was singing, his heart beating to the litany of _stevestevestevemissedyouwantyousteve_ in his head.

He groaned because his wounds were relatively fresh and Steve had him bound so firmly within his arms. Bucky didn’t care but Steve did. He stepped away from Bucky and seemed to remember Bucky had just come from the medics.

“God, Buck I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, it’s just been so long since I’ve seen you.” He said in a rush.

Bucky had stalked forward. “Don’t worry about me, I _need_ you.” There was so much more for him to touch and explore. He needed to learn this new body Steve had.

It didn’t help his case when he slumped forward and Steve had to catch him before he fell. “Really, I’m fine.” He tried to tell Steve.

“We’ll have time for this later. You need to sleep before you make your injuries worse.” Steve soothed while he led Bucky over to the bed.

Bucky made an attempt at resistance. He refused to let Steve go and ended up forcing Steve to lay down with him. Steve laughed and went easily.

“You better be here when I wake up.” Bucky told him. Even though he was basically lying on top of Steve, Bucky didn’t doubt Steve could, with no problem, lift him off and go if he wanted to.

“I promise I will be.” Steve said. Bucky’s head was on his chest and he had started carding through Bucky’s hair. He seemed content in simply being able to have Bucky close. Steve talked while Bucky drifted off, told him about a man Erskine and his so called ‘super soldier serum’.

Bucky slept peacefully for the first time in months listening to Steve’s voice.

 

**

Hydra and the Red Skull needed to be stopped.

Steve became the natural leader to go up against them. Bucky could have sworn Steve was born for this, to play the part of the hero, to be Captain America. He made it seem effortless.

A part of him was proud to see Steve thriving this way. Steve deserved this, there was no one better to lead them, to inspire them. Bucky would’ve followed him to the ends of the earth. To him, Steve was still the same kid from Brooklyn who needed Bucky to watch his back. The person he would tell, “I’m with you til’ the end of the line, pal.”

At the same time it was strange that everyone else finally seemed to see Steve. They saw his courage, his goodness, his strength. All of these were secrets only Bucky knew before; and now he was sharing them with the rest of the world.

 

**

Bucky never told Steve about the experiments they did on him.

Steve understood enough not to ask.

 

**

The two of them worked brilliantly together with the rest of the Howling Commandos to attack Hydra bases.

Bucky was at Steve’s side, doing something good and making a difference. He used his rifle to protect Steve, the rest of their team. With success they sabotaged numerous Hydra operations.

At night Bucky slept curled around Steve the way they always used to; even when they didn’t have the privacy of another room. They hadn’t told anyone they were Matched. Perhaps the rest of the Commandos could tell anyway because they never said anything, didn’t treat them any differently. If it was possible they would even try to give them privacy.

Bucky wouldn’t ever let those moments go to waste.

When he got the opportunity he would take Steve apart with his hands and mouth. Other nights he would be nearly whimpering beneath Steve’s ministrations. For maybe an hour, if they were lucky, Bucky could lose himself in Steve. Make a bed out of the dirty ground, find warmth and comfort in the other’s touch.

Bucky would map out the planes of Steve’s chest, the curve of his hipbones, the sharp points of his collarbone. Steve would lavish as much attention on Bucky; trailing kisses down his stomach and driving Bucky crazy with clever strokes of his tongue.

 

**

It wasn’t easy; trying to rid the world of Hydra while at the same time worrying Steve was going to get himself shot. True, Steve seemed to be a little more indestructible these days. It wasn’t as if Bucky could turn off years of instincts though.

 

**

They received information Zola was going to be traveling by train, and would no doubt hold valuable intel about the rest of Hydra’s plans.

Capturing Zola meant they had a better chance of finding the Red Skull. It was clear what their next goal was.

The air was cold and the snow crunched beneath their feet as they figured out the right place to attack the train from. It was decided Captain America, Barnes and Jones would be sent down to board the train.

“Remember that time I made you ride the Cyclone on Coney Island?”

“Yeah, and I threw up.”

“This isn’t payback is it?”

“Now why would I do that?”

 

**

Steve had been hit, had dropped his shield. He was okay but he was down.

And they were still getting shot at.

Desperate, Bucky picked up the heavy shield. The _red, white_ and _blue_ of it were bright in the otherwise dark space of the carriage.

Bucky was blasted backwards before he could react. He barely had time to grab an unsteady hold on the outside of the speeding train. Wind was whistling through his ear. Steve was there, panic stricken and shouting. Bucky couldn’t understand what he was saying.

Steve leaned outside the door, reaching for him.

He reached back.

 

**

Bucky’s blood was _red_ against the snow.

 

** **

Bucky Barnes is erased. Everything that made him Bucky is wiped clean. His memories, his thoughts, his will, his beliefs are all taken from him. His arm is replaced with metal. It becomes a symbol of his new identity.

Even his name is no longer his own. He is molded into a weapon and weapons don’t need names.

** **

 

Missions were all that mattered. They were the defining aspect to his life.

Years passed with ice as his only company. The world changed, evolved, modernized.

 

**

Every so often he was brought out of his frozen prison.

“What’s my mission?” He didn’t ask anything else. There was no need to know anything else.

If killing ever bothered him he wasn’t aware of the guilt before that was wiped away too.

To his handlers he was nothing more than a tool. Taken out and used when necessary, put away when he had done his task.

 

**

_“Some people lose their Match. When they do they lose colors and a part of themselves too.”_

The Winter Soldier saw the world in shades of grey.

He gave very little, if any thought to Matches. Sometimes it came into his mind unbidden. It usually happened when he was sent out on missions that lasted longer than a couple weeks.

A strange feeling would creep up in his chest; phantom pains that didn’t really belong to the Soldier. That if he tried to examine them would result in him drawing a blank at the unbreakable walls in his head.

There were moments where he knew he should be seeing something other than grey. The fact that he couldn’t was…important. He just didn’t know why. What he did know was it caused an unexplained sorrow somewhere inside him; a part of him mourning a loss he wasn’t aware of.

It was annoyingly frustrating.

 

**

Once he got sent out to Italy.

On his way back from the completed mission he saw a monument for World War II. The sight of it gave him pause. Hours passed with him a trance like state. Simply staring and trying to figure out why it was significant.

Eventually his handlers found him when he didn’t check in at the scheduled time.

He wasn’t sent to Italy again.

 

**

Sometimes when he would fall asleep he was sure he was missing something. The bed felt too empty and cold.

On those rare occasions he dreamt it was only ever of vague impressions. No actual images he could remember when he woke up.

He was always left with the sense of falling. That he was forgetting a critical piece of information.

 

**

It was 2012.

On the morning he was meant to be assassinating the ambassador of Malaysia everything went wrong. He was going to take the shot, it was lined up and his query was in his crosshairs.

Then without warning _colors_ roared into focus.

They crashed into him, making everything too vibrant and rich. He dropped his rifle and clutched his head. He fell to his knees from the sensory overload.

He was assaulted by an image of _blonde_ hair and _blue_ eyes. It was gone before he could make sense of it. Colors had no place in his life. They would be distractions, useless and making him feel too much. The phantom pains were stronger than they had ever been.

The Soldier never failed a mission though. He wasn’t about to start then.

Within moments he was pulling himself together, training kicking in. This was just another obstacle he had to overcome. It might not be the physical ones he was used to, but he could still get through it. Shove it down and away while he did his job.

It wouldn’t matter later when they put him back on ice and it shouldn’t matter now.

He picked up his fallen weapon. This time nothing prevented him from pulling the trigger.

The colors stayed, even after the next time they put a mouth guard between his teeth and laid him back while a switch was flipped.

 

**

The next mission he received was Nicky Fury.

In the end all it took was bullet shot from the opposite rooftop. While he made his escape a man pursued him. It was admirable that he was able to keep up.

The man threw a shield and he caught it without hesitation. Bright city lights were enough to see the man was blonde, muscular. He threw it back and got away easily.

 

**

The same week he was given orders to assassinate that man. Rogers, Captain America, it turned out; as well as the woman he was working with, Romanov.

He was given a picture of Rogers. For a minute all his attention was on the man’s eyes.

They were a distinct shade of _blue_.

 

**

He was able to track them on the highways, weaving between cars until he got to the one he wanted. The steering wheel ripped right off when he pulled it out, making the rest of them jump out onto the road, leaving them vulnerable.

He was handed his gun and went after Romanov. She led him over the bridge and unto more streets below. He was calculating, merciless in his pursuit.

One of his shots hit her, he was going to finish it when Rogers stopped him.

They fought and again the Soldier was somewhat surprised he was able to keep up. It seemed there was truth in it when people called Rogers the Super Soldier.

But the Winter Soldier was relentless. He held nothing back. Every hit, every movement was meant to be deadly. He knew his orders, his mission and he had every intention of carrying it out.

The ache in his chest grew with each blow he landed on Rogers. Somewhere in the back of his head a voice was screaming at him to stop.

Then his mask fell, a harmless piece of black on the road.

He turned, prepared to continue the attack. Rogers was staring at him like he was a ghost.

“Bucky?”

That name spoken by Rogers nearly made him flinch.

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

He was angry. Confusion and panic briefly flashed through him too. The idea of someone knowing him, recognizing him was alarming. He didn’t feel as in control as he usually did.

He moved to strike out again but he didn’t get the chance to finish what he started. A solid kick to his upper body knocked him down, courtesy of a man with mechanical wings.

There was a moment when he hesitated. Being around Rogers made him feel things he didn’t understand.

He didn’t like how unsettling that was.

He went to take his shot and again got stopped, this time by Romanov. It didn’t matter. A team had shown up to take Rogers and his associates into custody. They took him in too.

The entire trip back to base he fought with the feeling of familiarity that was seeping into him.

 _You know him_ , it was a whisper in his head.

 

**

He still felt angry when they brought him down to the labs. They sat him down on the operating chair. For the first time in however long he felt conflicted. There was too much at war inside him, instincts fighting instilled programming. They were working on his arm and suddenly his mind brought him somewhere else.

_He is falling._

_He looks down and his arm is gone._

_You are to be the new fist of Hydra._

He lashed out at the next touch. Men show up with guns trained on him. He didn’t pay them any attention.

A man called Pierce came down to see him. “Mission report, now.” Pierce demanded. He barely registered the contact when Pierce slapped him. 

The Soldier didn’t have an answer for him. Instead he asked, “That man on the bridge, who was he?”

“You met him earlier this week on another assignment.” Pierce studied him carefully. 

“I knew him.” He spoke quietly. He didn’t know _how_ he just knew that he _did_.

Pierce gave him a speech, told him he shaped the century and his work had been a gift to mankind. Pierce told him all this and he didn’t care.

“But I knew him.” He was lost in his own head. Beating furiously at walls that refused to come down and prevented him from knowing.

It was all he cared about, that man on the bridge. Rogers was important somehow.

Pierce looked wary. He stood and said, “Prep him.”

“He’s been out of cryofreeze too long.”

“Then wipe him and start over.”

They pushed him down and he allowed it.

He knew what was about to happen. It had happened enough times in the past. They were aware he knew too much, they had to take his memories again.

He understood this, as well as he understood there was nothing he could do. He may have been physically stronger, but he knew better than to resist.

He accepted the mouth guard and screamed.

 

**

His mission was given to him.

 

**

“You know me.”

It made no sense.

The man, Rogers, was saving him. He had shot him, tried to kill him and here he was helping him; lifted up steel so he could escape.

He was sick of things not making sense. He wanted to stop feeling this, something where there should be nothing.

“No, I don’t!” He yelled as he struck Rogers; stumbling when Rogers blocked it with his shield.

“Bucky, you’ve known me your whole life.” He sounded determined.

He yelled when he tried to hit him again. It was painful hearing those words. The helicarrier was collapsing around them. He was panting, doing his best to stay upright as the floor shook.

“Your name is James Buchanan Barnes.” Rogers continued.

“ _Shut up!_ ”

He didn’t have a name.

He knocked Rogers on the ground and fell in the process. They both unsteadily got to their feet and Rogers took off his helmet. His face was bloodied yet that did nothing to diminish the distressing familiarity of it.

“I’m not going to fight you.” The shield fell. “You’re my friend.” Rogers was out of breath, chest heaving.

Rogers stared at him, pleading with his eyes, willing him to understand. It was a look he couldn’t bear to see. He tackled him to the ground.

“You’re my mission.” He said, resolute.

His pulled his fist back and punched, over and over and over again. Rogers looked at him like he could see every part of him, like he already _knew_ every part of him and it was terrifying.

_You’re my mission._

He repeated it. Maybe he was trying to convince himself. He raised his hand and couldn’t force it down. It was hurting him to see Rogers like this.

He hated that he couldn’t understand _why_.

“Then finish it.” Rogers spoke through his pain. “ ‘Cause I’m with you til’ the end of the line.”

Something inside him broke.

Maybe it was the walls coming down. Years of programming cracking under the realization the man beneath his hands was valuable. Was someone essential to his own life.

He stared down at Rogers, eyes locked with fading _blue._

The rest of the carrier caved in, metal creaking and crashing around them. He grasped the metal bars beside him and felt the floor collapse.

Rogers fell.

He fell and it was impossible to look away. His body hit the water and he was lost from sight. Fear was like ice gripping his heart.

He didn’t think about it before he let go.

 

**

He pulls the man to shore.

Rogers is unconscious and looks half dead. Gently he places the blonde across his lap and wipes the dirt from his face. Eventually he’s doing nothing more than holding his face, thumbs resting at the corners of soft lips.

The tree’s leaves are _green_ , the sand is _brown_ , the explosions of the carriers are _orange_ , and he finally gets it. A sound that could be a sob or a laugh leaves his mouth.

“You idiot, why didn’t you tell me?”

He leans down until they are virtually breathing the same air. He closes his eyes and ignores the wetness that streams down his face that has nothing to do with the river he just came out of.

He feels whole. Holding this man makes him feel at peace.

Steve. The man in his arms is named Steve.

He is James “Bucky” Buchanan Barnes.

And his soulmate is Steve Rogers.

 

**

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not going to lie, this is a product of like 3 nights of me staying up all night frantically writing so if it's a little rough around the edges that's probably why
> 
> If you want you can find me on [tumblr](http://thebuckyrogers.tumblr.com/) <3  
>  


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